Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series

by Alexander Pope

  This mate shall joy thy melancholy shade.’

  Heart-piercing anguish, at the haughty boast,

  Touch’d every Greek, but Nestor’s son the most:

  Griev’d as he was, his pious arms attend,

  And his broad buckler shields his slaughter’d friend: 530

  Till sad Mecistheus and Alastor bore

  His honour’d body to the tented shore.

  Nor yet from fight Idomeneus withdraws;

  Resolv’d to perish in his country’s cause,

  Or find some foe, whom Heav’n and he shall doom 535

  To wail his fate in death’s eternal gloom.

  He sees Alcathoüs in the front aspire:

  Great Æsyetes was the hero’s sire:

  His spouse Hippodame, divinely fair,

  Anchises’ eldest hope, and darling care: 540

  Who charm’d her parent’s and her husband’s heart,

  With beauty, sense, and every work of art:

  He, once, of Ilion’s youth the loveliest boy,

  The fairest she, of all the fair of Troy.

  By Neptune now the hapless hero dies, 545

  Who covers with a cloud those beauteous eyes,

  And fetters every limb: yet bent to meet

  His fate, he stands; nor shuns the lance of Crete.

  Fix’d as some column, or deep-rooted oak,

  (While the winds sleep,) his breast receiv’d the stroke. 550

  Before the pond’rous stroke his corslet yields,

  Long used to ward the death in fighting fields.

  The riven armour sends a jarring sound:

  His lab’ring heart heaves with so strong a bound,

  The long lance shakes, and vibrates in the wound: 555

  Fast flowing from its source, as prone he lay,

  Life’s purple tide impetuous gush’d away.

  Then Idomen, insulting o’er the slain:

  ‘Behold, Deïphobus! nor vaunt in vain:

  See! on one Greek three Trojan ghosts attend, 560

  This, my third victim, to the shades I send.

  Approaching now, thy boasted might approve,

  And try the prowess of the seed of Jove.

  From Jove, enamour’d on a mortal dame,

  Great Minos, guardian of his country, came; 565

  Deucalion, blameless Prince! was Minos’ heir;

  His first-born I, the third from Jupiter:

  O’er spacious Crete and her bold sons I reign,

  And thence my ships transport me thro’ the main:

  Lord of a host, o’er all my host I shine, 570

  A scourge to thee, thy father, and thy line.’

  The Trojan heard; uncertain, or to meet

  Alone, with venturous arms, the King of Crete;

  Or seek auxiliar force; at length decreed

  To call some hero to partake the deed. 575

  Forthwith Æneas rises to his thought;

  For him, in Troy’s remotest lines he sought,

  Where he, incens’d at partial Priam, stands,

  And sees superior posts in meaner hands.

  To him, ambitious of so great an aid, 580

  The bold Deïphobus approach’d, and said:

  ‘Now, Trojan Prince, employ thy pious arms,

  If e’er thy bosom felt fair honour’s charms.

  Alcathoüs dies, thy brother and thy friend.

  Come, and the warrior’s lov’d remains defend. 585

  Beneath his cares thy early youth was train’d,

  One table fed you, and one roof contain’d.

  This deed to fierce Idomeneus we owe;

  Haste, and revenge it on th’ insulting foe.’

  Æneas heard, and for a space resign’d 590

  To tender pity all his manly mind;

  Then, rising in his rage, he burns to fight:

  The Greek awaits him, with collected might.

  As the fell boar on some rough mountain’s head,

  Arm’d with wild terrors, and to slaughter bred, 595

  When the loud rustics rise, and shout from far,

  Attends the tumult, and expects the war;

  O’er his bent back the bristly horrors rise,

  Fires stream in lightning from his sanguine eyes;

  His foaming tusks both dogs and men engage, 600

  But most his hunters rouse his mighty rage:

  So stood Idomeneus, his jav’lin shook,

  And met the Trojan with a low’ring look.

  Antilochus, Deïpyrus, were near,

  The youthful offspring of the God of War; 605

  Merion, and Aphareus, in field renown’d:

  To these the warrior sent his voice around:

  ‘Fellows in arms! your timely aid unite:

  Lo, great Æneas rushes to the fight:

  Sprung from a God, and more than mortal bold: 610

  He fresh in youth, and I in arms grown old.

  Else should this hand, this hour, decide the strife,

  The great dispute, of glory, or of life.’

  He spoke, and all as with one soul obey’d;

  Their lifted bucklers cast a dreadful shade 615

  Around the Chief. Æneas too demands

  Th’ assisting forces of his native bands:

  Paris, Deïphobus, Agenor join;

  (Co-aids and captains of the Trojan line;)

  In order follow all th’ embodied train; 620

  Like Ida’s flocks proceeding o’er the plain:

  Before his fleecy care, erect and bold,

  Stalks the proud ram, the father of the fold:

  With joy the swain surveys them, as he leads

  To the cool fountains thro’ the well-known meads: 625

  So joys Æneas, as his native band

  Moves on in rank, and stretches o’er the land.

  Round dead Alcathoüs now the battle rose;

  On ev’ry side the steely circle grows;

  Now batter’d breast-plates and hack’d helmets ring, 630

  And o’er their heads unheeded jav’lins sing.

  Above the rest, two tow’ring Chiefs appear,

  There great Idomeneus, Æneas here.

  Like Gods of War, dispensing fate, they stood,

  And burn’d to drench the ground with mutual blood. 635

  The Trojan weapon whizz’d along in air:

  The Cretan saw, and shunn’d the brazen spear,

  Sent from an arm so strong, the missive wood

  Stuck deep in earth, and quiver’d where it stood.

  But Œnomas receiv’d the Cretan’s stroke; 640

  The forceful spear his hollow corslet broke;

  It ripp’d his belly with a ghastly wound,

  And roll’d the smoking entrails to the ground.

  Stretch’d on the plain, he sobs away his breath,

  And furious grasps the bloody dust in death. 645

  The victor from his breast the weapon tears

  (His spoils he could not, for the shower of spears);

  Tho’ now unfit an active war to wage,

  Heavy with cumbrous arms, stiff with cold age,

  His listless limbs unable for the course; 650

  In standing fight he yet maintains his force:

  Till, faint with labour, and by foes repell’d,

  His tired slow steps he drags along the field.

  Deïphobus beheld him as he pass’d,

  And, fired with hate, a parting jav’lin cast: 655

  The jav’lin err’d, but held its course along,

  And pierc’d Ascalaphus, the brave and young:

  The son of Mars fell gasping on the ground,

  And gnash’d the dust all bloody with his wound.

  Nor knew the furious father of his fall; 660

  High-throned amidst the great Olympian hall,

  On golden clouds th’ immortal synod sat;

  Detain’d from bloody war by Jove and Fate.

  Now, where in dust the breathless hero lay,

/>   For slain Ascalaphus commenc’d the fray. 665

  Deïphobus to seize his helmet flies,

  And from his temples rends the glitt’ring prize:

  Valiant as Mars, Meriones drew near,

  And on his loaded arm discharged his spear.

  He drops the weight, disabled with the pain; 670

  The hollow helmet rings against the plain.

  Swift as a vulture leaping on his prey,

  From his torn arm the Grecian rent away

  The reeking jav’lin, and rejoin’d his friends.

  His wounded brother good Polites tends; 675

  Around his waist his pious arms he threw,

  And from the rage of combat gently drew:

  Him his swift coursers, on his splendid car,

  Rapt from the less’ning thunder of the war;

  To Troy they drove him, groaning, from the shore, 680

  And sprinkling, as he pass’d, the sands with gore.

  Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground,

  Heaps fall on heaps, and Heav’n and Earth resound.

  Bold Aphareus by great Æneas bled;

  As toward the Chief he turn’d his daring head, 685

  He pierc’d his throat; the bending head, depress’d

  Beneath his helmet, nods upon his breast;

  His shield revers’d o’er the fall’n warrior lies;

  And everlasting slumber seals his eyes.

  Antilochus, as Thoön turn’d him round, 690

  Transpierc’d his back with a dishonest wound:

  The hollow vein that to the neck extends

  Along the chine, his eager jav’lin rends:

  Supine he falls, and to his social train

  Spreads his imploring arms, but spreads in vain. 695

  Th’ exulting victor, leaping where he lay,

  From his broad shoulders tore the spoils away;

  His time observ’d; for, closed by foes around,

  On all sides thick, the peals of arms resound.

  His shield, emboss’d, the ringing storm sustains, 700

  But he impervious and untouch’d remains.

  (Great Neptune’s care preserv’d from hostile rage

  This youth, the joy of Nestor’s glorious age.)

  In arms intrepid with the first he fought,

  Faced ev’ry foe, and ev’ry danger sought; 705

  His winged lance, resistless as the wind,

  Obeys each motion of the master’s mind:

  Restless it flies, impatient to be free,

  And meditates the distant enemy.

  The son of Asius, Adamas, drew near, 710

  And struck his target with the brazen spear,

  Fierce in his front; but Neptune wards the blow,

  And blunts the jav’lin of th’ eluded foe.

  In the broad buckler half the weapon stood;

  Splinter’d on earth flew half the broken wood. 715

  Disarm’d, he mingled in the Trojan crew;

  But Merion’s spear o’ertook him as he flew,

  Deep in the belly’s rim an entrance found,

  Where sharp the pang, and mortal is the wound.

  Bending he fell, and, doubled to the ground, 720

  Lay panting. Thus an ox, in fetters tied,

  While death’s strong pangs distend his lab’ring side,

  His bulk enormous on the field displays;

  His heaving heart beats thick, as ebbing life decays.

  The spear the conqueror from his body drew, 725

  And death’s dim shadows swam before his view.

  Next brave Deïpyrus in dust was laid:

  King Helenus waved high the Thracian blade,

  And smote his temples with an arm so strong,

  The helm fell off, and roll’d amid the throng; 730

  There, for some luckier Greek it rests a prize,

  For dark in death the godlike owner lies!

  With raging grief great Menelaus burns,

  And, fraught with vengeance, to the victor turns;

  That shook the pond’rous lance, in act to throw, 735

  And this stood adverse with the bended bow:

  Full on his breast the Trojan arrow fell,

  But harmless bounded from the plated steel.

  As on some ample barn’s well-harden’d floor,

  (The winds collected at each open door,) 740

  While the broad fan with force is whirl’d around,

  Light leaps the golden grain, resulting from the ground:

  So from the steel that guards Atrides’ heart,

  Repell’d to distance flies the bounding dart.

  Atrides, watchful of th’ unwary foe, 745

  Pierc’d with his lance the hand that grasp’d the bow,

  And nail’d it to the yew: the wounded hand

  Trail’d the long lance that mark’d with blood the sand;

  But good Agenor gently from the wound

  The spear solicits, and the bandage bound; 750

  A sling’s soft wool, snatch’d from a soldier’s side,

  At once the tent and ligature supplied.

  Behold! Pisander, urged by Fate’s decree,

  Springs thro’ the ranks to fall, and fall by thee,

  Great Menelaus! to enhance thy fame; 755

  High tow’ring in the front, the warrior came.

  First the sharp lance was by Atrides thrown;

  The lance far distant by the winds was blown.

  Nor pierc’d Pisander thro’ Atrides’ shield;

  Pisander’s spear fell shiver’d on the field. 760

  Not so discouraged, to the future blind,

  Vain dreams of conquest swell his haughty mind;

  Dauntless he rushes where the Spartan lord

  Like lightning brandish’d his far-beaming sword.

  His left arm high opposed the shining shield; 765

  His right, beneath, the cover’d pole-axe held;

  (An olive’s cloudy grain the handle made,

  Distinct with studs; and brazen was the blade);

  This on the helm discharged a noble blow;

  The plume dropp’d nodding to the plain below, 770

  Shorn from the crest. Atrides waved his steel;

  Deep thro’ his front the weighty falchion fell;

  The crashing bones before its force gave way;

  In dust and blood the groaning hero lay;

  Forc’d from their ghastly orbs, and spouting gore, 775

  The clotted eye-balls tumble on the shore.

  The fierce Atrides spurn’d him as he bled,

  Tore off his arms, and loud exulting said:

  ‘Thus, Trojans, thus, at length be taught to fear;

  O race perfidious, who delight in war! 780

  Already noble deeds ye have perform’d,

  A Princess raped transcends a navy storm’d:

  In such bold feats your impious might approve,

  Without th’ assistance or the fear of Jove.

  The violated rites, the ravish’d dame, 785

  Our heroes slaughter’d, and our ships on flame,

  Crimes heap’d on crimes, shall bend your glory down,

  And whelm in ruins yon flagitious town.

  O thou, great Father, lord of earth and skies,

  Above the thought of man, supremely wise! 790

  If from thy hand the fates of mortals flow,

  From whence this favour to an impious foe,

  A godless crew, abandon’d and unjust,

  Still breathing rapine, violence, and lust?

  The best of things, beyond their measure, cloy; 795

  Sleep’s balmy blessing, love’s endearing joy;

  The feast, the dance; whate’er mankind desire,

  Ev’n the sweet charms of sacred numbers tire.

  But Troy for ever reaps a dire delight

  In thirst of slaughter, and in lust of fight.’ 800

  This said, he seiz’d (while yet the carcass heav’d)


  The bloody armour, which his train receiv’d:

  Then sudden mix’d among the warring crew,

  And the bold son of Pylæmenes slew.

  Harpalion had thro’ Asia travell’d far, 805

  Following his martial father to the war;

  Thro’ filial love he left his native shore,

  Never, ah never, to behold it more!

  His unsuccessful spear he chanc’d to fling

  Against the target of the Spartan king; 810

  Thus of his lance disarm’d, from death he flies,

  And turns around his apprehensive eyes.

  Him, thro’ the hip transpiercing as he fled,

  The shaft of Merion mingled with the dead.

  Beneath the bone the glancing point descends, 815

  And, driving down, the swelling bladder rends:

  Sunk in his sad companions’ arms he lay,

  And in short pantings sobb’d his soul away

  (Like some vile worm extended on the ground),

  While life’s red torrent gush’d from out the wound. 820

  Him on his car the Paphlagonian train

  In slow procession bore from off the plain.

  The pensive father, father now no more!

  Attends the mournful pomp along the shore;

  And unavailing tears profusely shed, 825

  And unrevenged deplor’d his offspring dead.

  Paris from far the moving sight beheld,

  With pity soften’d, and with fury swell’d:

  His honour’d host, a youth of matchless grace,

  And lov’d of all the Paphlagonian race! 830

  With his full strength he bent his angry bow,

  And wing’d the feather’d vengeance at the foe.

  A Chief there was, the brave Euchenor named,

  For riches much, and more for virtue, famed,

  Who held his seat in Corinth’s stately town; 835

  Polydus’ son, a seer of old renown.

  Oft had the father told his early doom,

  By arms abroad, or slow disease at home:

  He climb’d his vessel, prodigal of breath,

  And chose the certain glorious path to death. 840

  Beneath his ear the pointed arrow went;

  The soul came issuing at the narrow vent;

  His limbs, unnerv’d, drop useless on the ground,

  And everlasting darkness shades him round.

  Nor knew great Hector how his legions yield 845

  (Wrapp’d in the cloud and tumult of the field);

  Wide on the left the force of Greece commands,

  And conquest hovers o’er th’ Achaian bands:

  With such a tide superior virtue sway’d,

  And he that shakes the solid earth, gave aid. 850

  But in the centre Hector fix’d remain’d,

  Where first the gates were forc’d, and bulwarks gain’d;

  There, on the margin of the hoary deep